


Risk It For a Reece's

by Anonymous



Category: Real Person Fiction, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Allergic Reaction(s), Allergies, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - First Meeting, EMT Mark Fischbach, Ethan Nestor Is Babey, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Humor, I promise, Krymménos, M/M, Meme Prompt?, Peanut Butter, alternate first meeting, based off a tumblr post, ethan is a little shit, meet cute, meet funny, sweeter than it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27770971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ethan can't stand it anymore. Hehasto know what a Reece's Peanut Butter Cup tastes like.It somehow leads to meeting the single hottest EMT he's ever seen.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 20
Kudos: 289
Collections: Anonymous





	Risk It For a Reece's

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this Tumblr post.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b0159998d8c8b1cb6038461d09ef8ab2/tumblr_n8kr8wQYd81twsbm8o10_640.jpg)  
> As always, this work is intended in a fictional capacity and is not an accurate depiction of nor intended as any disrespect towards the persons mentioned; their friends; their family; their representatives or their significant others. Please do not send this work to any of the aforementioned persons.
> 
> Obviously Ethan has spoken out about his lethal allergy and is (rightfully) _very_ careful about it, but I read this prompt and immediately thought about Crankiplier. If you have an allergy please don't do this. Allergies, especially lethal ones, are no joke. This is undoubtedly the stupidest thing I've written so far. I do have two lethal allergies and in real life would never fool around with such matters.  
> -JJH

He couldn't go on like this. 

He was (hopefully) gonna live to be around eighty, and the world expected him to just continue on his merry way without ever tasting the supposed Heavenly flavour of various snacks and foods?

Bullshit.

It was unfair is what it was. Watching his friends and family going about their lives without having to scrutinise _everything_. Without being terrified that so much as touching a door handle or shopping cart would set them off. Having to spend twenty minutes every time he went out to a restaurant desperately trying to find out what contained nuts, where they stored their nuts, what oils they cooked with. It was a fucking _travesty_ that he'd been bestowed this curse, and he was _sick of it._

"Sick of it!" He announced out loud to his empty house, slapping a hand on his bare thigh. He'd spent three weeks building up to this moment. In front of him sat a box of Reece's Pieces peanut butter cups and a packet of the little M&M style things, and he had a pair of latex gloves on so that he could upwrap them without causing a reaction before he'd even gotten to taste any of them. He had a pair of shorts on so that he could just stab the needle straight down without worrying about any clothing, and his phone was right next to him, with 911 open on the call screen, ready to call for an ambulance. His EpiPen lay at his side, uncapped and waiting. Was it a waste of public services? Yes. Did he feel guilty? Enough. Was that going to stop him? Not at all. 

He hit the 911 button first so he wouldn't unwrap the chocolates then get contaminants all over his phone screen, and sucked in a breath as he waited, heartbeat rabbiting in his chest. He could hang up. He could simply just not do this. Not take the risk. Save himself the money and save the ambulance people their resources and time. He could-

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"

"Hi," he squeaked, fumbling to put the call on speaker. "Uh, I'm lethally allergic to peanuts and I've just consumed peanut butter. I'm going into anaphylactic shock. I've administered my EpiPen. My address is..." He reeled off his address, listened to the woman confirm that an ambulance was on the way, then hung up before she could ask him to stay on the line. He dove for the wrapper of the 'peanut pebbles' and then tore open the peanut butter cups, pulling one out before he returned to the pebbles. He had to act fast - there was no telling how quickly an ambulance would arrive. He felt almost sick with nerves and excitement as he poured the pebbles into his mouth, biting down immediately. They were crunchy, then pasty, sweet on his tongue and marking the point of no return.

And god, they were _good_. 

He grabbed the peanut butter cup next, peeling off the protective brown paper and shoving it into his mouth whole. It was even thicker than the pebbles and richer, a whole layer of sweet-salty peanut butter between solid chocolate. He moaned lightly, savouring as much as he dared. His cheeks were already starting to feel hot and his chest was already starting to tingle and burn. When he looked down at his arms little patches of pale pink had begun to form, and they would darken as the allergic reaction began to gain traction. He scarfed down the rest of the pebbles and half of another peanut butter cup before his body began to tell him it was _really_ time for that EpiPen.

He sucked in a wheezed breath, peeling the gloves off and tossing them in the trash can before he scrabbled for the pen, wincing as he drove it down into his thigh and compressed it. His skin felt hot and itchy and uncomfortable and his cheeks felt like someone had lit them on fire. Each breath felt like hot ice in his lungs and he let out a gasp, grip going slack on the used up pen. He flopped backwards out of reach of the remaining peanut butter cups, focusing on sucking in breaths as deeply and slowly as he could. This was his third ever reaction to peanuts and the lone, first ever reaction that had been intentional. That did _not_ make it easier. 

Closing his eyes, he tried to settle through the rolling of his stomach and the sudden headache that had bloomed behind his eyes. A loud wailing started up in the distance and grew louder, which he realised with a jolt of relief was the ambulance. 

"LAFR! We are entering the premises in response to a 911 call!" The voice was loud and masculine and he creaked an eye open, making a vague noise he hoped was loud enough to alert them to his presence. The world seemed to roll over itself around him and he closed his eye again, whimpering at another uncomfortable, prickly flush that crawled all over his body like a hoard of ants. There was the sound of footsteps and rustling, and then another voice, deeper than the first like a handful of gravel tossed into a cement mixer. 

"Tyler, in here". 

Someone approached and dropped down besides him, hands light as they prodded gently at his neck, feeling around the slight swelling. "Hello, my name is Mark. I'm a first responder paramedic. Can you tell me your name?" 

"Ethan Nestor," he croaked, peeling his eyes open again. They felt dry and scratchy but he could also feel the burn of tears there. They were probably bloodshot to Hell at this point. It took a moment for his vision to adjust and when it did he groaned and slammed them shut again. Kneeling above him was a man he could only describe as _angelic_. He had richly dark eyes framed by a sweep of lashes and a mane of jet hair that curled around his ears and flopped into his eyes like some sort of anti-halo. His mouth was quirked up in a pleasant smile that accentuated the sharp, curved corners of his eyes.

Fingers slid along and poked at his arms, pushed his collar down to check his chest and then that rumbled voice asked him to open his eyes. He did, and then shied away from the flashlight that immediately burned into his retinas with the force of a thousand suns. 

"Can you tell me what day it is?"

"Saturday," he grumbled, cringing his way through the urge to puke. That would about be the last fucking thing he wanted to do right now, save for shitting himself. There was a chuckle, and when he dared to peek up the second paramedic was holding up the peanut butter snack wrappers, one brow arched in judgement. Mark eyed them and Ethan could practically smell the burning of the cogs turning inside his head as he put together the pieces of the carefully staged scene.

"I see you had big plans for the day," the other one - Tyler - mused after a moment, with no small amount of judgement in his voice.

"Was it worth it?" The hot EMT asked, blinking down at him with something between a smile and a smirk. Ethan moaned in response, breathing through a sudden wave of nausea. 

_"So_ worth it," he agreed breathlessly.

Mark looked amused and rueful but hummed lowly and sank back on his haunches, picking up the discarded EpiPen thoughtfully. "Okay. Get him saline and cortisol in an IV. Have an ox-tank on standby in case he crashes. Epinephrine has already been administered so let's do a fifteen minute observation and see how it goes". Ethan let his eyes fall closed as he listened to him talk, the flush crawling up his cheeks not entirely caused by the peanut butter. Gentle hands took his left wrist and something wet and cold wiped over the back of his hand, followed shortly by the sting of a needle. He grumbled through it, squeezing his eyes tighter shut for a moment. 

Soothing coolness began to seep steadily up his arm and he breathed out in relief, grateful beyond belief as he listened to the first paramedic talking into a radio, telling someone on the other end that they were on scene and n further backup or resources were needed. He immediately felt guilty at wasting their time. 

There was a light tap on his shoulder after several long moments and he looked up blearily to find the attractive EMT holding out a large glass of cold water. Strong hands helped him to sit up enough to take a few careful sips, and he tried not to feel embarrassed or pay too much attention to the dark gaze fixed on him as Tyler began to pack up the rest of the kit, leaving out another baggie and a second EpiPen, presumably for if his body decided it had more revolting to do. He heard the crinkle of a wrapper off to the side and turned, staring at Mark in tandem with the other paramedic. 

Mark blinked at them, licking chocolate from his lower lip as he tossed the wrapper of what had been the last peanut butter cup into the trash, levelling Ethan with a 'don't you dare' look. "What, like _you_ were gonna eat it?"

"I might've wanted to eat it," Tyler piped up, and he received an equally unimpressed stare. 

"Shut up, Tyler," Mark bitched eventually, tying off the trash bag. Ethan listened to them in amusement and then watched Mark rise to his feet, taking the trash bag with him to presumably put it into a bin on the street where Ethan wouldn't risk going into shock again as he did the weekly garbage. It was quiet for a few moments, where he basked in his own humiliation like marinating chicken. His slow descent into the flames of embarrassment was interrupted when Tyler spoke. 

"Did you really do all this deliberately?"

He looked up, sheepish. "I've never tried anything like this before, I swear. I just...I _had_ to know. Y'know? Like how some people gotta know if there's life on Mars. I just had to know..."

"What a Reece's cup tasted like?" Mark rumbled from the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded. He somehow looked even muscular there, in his blue-and-blacks with his broad shoulders and barrel chest and biceps that Ethan would happily suffocate between. He looked amused at the least and Ethan shrugged meekly, sipping his water to avoid having to deal another blow to his dignity. He was well aware of how stupid it was. He'd literally risked his life for a piece of chocolate. He could be dead, and in a matter of hours someone would've had to call his parents and explain that they lost their son to his maniacal obsession with chocolate covered peanut butter. 

The two EMT's settled opposite him, legs tucked up as they began to officially monitor him. Mark set a timer on his watch and checked his pulse now and then, keeping a careful observation on the rashes along his arms. He already itched to go sink into a tub of cool water and maybe mummify himself in aloe gel, but the itching was tolerable and the uncomfortable heat was still far off the sweltering infernos of the Los Angeles summers. 

He learned in that time that Mark and Tyler were childhood best friends who'd joined the first response paramedics together and that Mark had a dog called Chica while the closest thing Tyler had to a pet was a spider in his bathroom he was too chicken shit to remove and too compassionate to kill. Ethan had left his own childhood dogs back home when he'd moved but admitted he'd love nothing more than to adopt a rescue dog when he was financially able to and had the time to dedicate to an animal that needed a little extra loving. Mark listened to him with an intensity that made him feel centre-stage, cheeks heating up under the attention and the outright soft look that he was pinned with. 

Mark's watch beeped and the EMT shifted, moving closer to give him a final check up. He tried to keep himself composed at the large hands that slid lightly over his arms and cupped his neck, but it was no easy feat when the man's face was close to his own and he was confronted with a real-time analysis of their size difference. Ethan wasn't scrawny, but he'd only just started going to the gym on a semi-regular basis whereas this man was clearly a frequent flyer to the weights section. His shirt was practically begging for mercy where it was clinging for dear life across his chest and around his biceps. Ethan had never wanted to be an inanimate object more in his life. 

"Earth to Ethan?" 

"Huh?" He looked up, then down as he felt a slight pinch. Tyler had pulled the IV line from his hand and was now dabbing the pinprick bead of blood with a cotton swab. 

"I asked if you wanted the My Little Pony or the Paw Patrol band-aids," Mark repeated, eyes glittering as he held up the two little plastic boxes of band-aids. He blinked, then scoffed and snatched the box of Paw Patrol strips with an arrogant sniff. 

"Nothing is more magical than dogs with jobs," he announced, delighted when it prompted laughter from Mark. Loud and heartfelt, head tossed back kinda laughter. Ethan immediately wanted to hear more of it, wanted to be the cause of more of it, and it was ridiculous. The man could be married, for all he knew. A quick glance at his hands showed no sign of a ring, but Ethan knew plenty of people in such demanding and hands-on jobs chose not to wear their rings when out and about. Besides; Ethan's luck in dating dictated that this man would be the single most heterosexual man to ever heterosexual.

He zoned back into the conversation and found that they were telling him very much the same thing he'd been told after his previous reactions. Relax for the day, stay hydrated, be careful with what he ate. He lied gallantly and said he'd have one of his friends check on him later (he intended no such thing; it was humiliating enough that the Gods had sent him the hottest man alive at a time like this) and did his best not to look gangly and awkward as he dragged himself from the floor to the couch, listening intently to Mark The Hot EMT lecture him on safely managing an allergy. 

He was complimented on his audacity and balls once more, and then he watched them slip through the door, breath stuttering in his lungs as Mark winked at him just before pulling the door closed behind him. 

He thought that was the end of it. A brief memory that he would look back on repeatedly as he aged, with a recipe of wistfulness, embarrassment and humor. He'd already told his friends on Saturday that he felt sick, so he spent the rest of the day lounging in bed with some dry snacks, a bottle of water and nursing his wounded pride. Sunday was spent much the same and things were back to normal on Monday, where he looked just pitiful enough that nobody was suspicious about his weekend endeavours. Things were, in fact, normal and as predicted right up until the Friday afternoon. He was attempting to understand a recipe in the page of the cookbook that his Mom had got him for his twenty-first birthday when someone knocked his door with three heavy thumps. 

"Coming!" He yelled, hissing furiously at Siri to turn down the music before he bounded out of the kitchen, heedless of the flour particles stuck all over his hands, sleeves and shirt. He was expecting perhaps a late postal delivery or maybe even Kathryn from work. He was _not_ expecting Mark The Hot EMT, dressed in his first responder uniform with a thick, black jacket unzipped over the top and a carrier bag clutched in one hand. Surprised, he faltered to speak for a moment, gaze sweeping up and down the man, who cast him a million dollar smile and said _hey_ in that sour whiskey and fifty-a-day voice. 

"Uh," was all he could think to say in response, leaning back a little. He'd called his insurance the day after the reaction, and it was unlikely they'd send a first responder out like some bailiff. 

"I hope I'm not disturbing anything fun," the EMT remarked, raking his gaze over Ethan's upper body before he held out the bag. "As much as I admire the fact that you took the whole _risk it for a Reece's_ thing so seriously, it'd be a shame to waste such ambition on something so simple. So I got you these". A slight lift of his brow came as a clear indication to take it, and still struck dumb he did, pulling apart the handles to peek in. A variety of packages greeted him and he pulled one out, squinting at its label. Surprised, he pulled out another, shaking the bag a little. 

They were all chocolate cups filled with peanut butter alternatives. Almond, cashew, brazil, hazel. 

"What are...What's..." He couldn't form words, squeaking a little when he looked up and was met with another dazzling smile. Nobody had business owning teeth that white. 

"There's a little something extra in the bottom for you, too". Mark looked downright salacious when he said it, smile angling up into a heartbreaker smirk before he glanced down at his watch, cringing a little. "I gotta run. Night shift. I hope your night goes better than mine likely will". He turned and bounced off down the drive in a truly cinematic flip of the hair, slipping into a slightly beat up truck and peeling off with a faint soundtrack of soft rock. 

"Uh". At a loss for words he rummaged into a bag like a dog finding a mole hole in the garden, rooting around until his fingers closed over what felt like a receipt. Confused, he pulled it out. Maybe it had a coupon for more chocolate cups on there or something. 

Except when he unfolded it, it was a phone number, scrawled in hurried writing on a scrap of note paper.

Somehow, while wheezing and groaning on the floor like a hived up, bloated whale, he'd scored a date. 


End file.
